"versailles" poems
A haze of smoke
Blurs the picture
Lipstick stains the
Cigarette that flickers
Red painted nails
Tap the frozen rails
Champagne bottle,
Dating back to Versailles
Blacked out eyes, matching skin
Bruise alike
**** it with a shot of gin
Little white flowers
Shot with a polaroid
Symbolize my paranoia
Pastel colors litter my eyes
Watching the rain fall
As time flies by
Twinkling Lights of the city skyline
Closed eyes, sip of wine
Hot coffee, big sweaters
Take a sip, enjoy the weather
Old book
Faded maps
And worn out ball caps
Gold jewelry flashed about
Parties thrown in nthe underground
Now I begin, haven't you heard?
Aesthetic is in, what a beautiful word.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
What do you see
When the flower meets your eye,
What beauty must hide
In visceral Versailles,
In cherry tree reality...
Does it mystify?
The variegated countryside
Does the chorus nullify
The diversified into harmony
What melodic elegance underlies
That subjective divide
Wistful of waves you fly
What do you see in the cherry tree sky
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Just a wicked peacenik’n quick draw from the Paw
Game of Thrones’n the Shah, cRussian bones of the law
And still spewing the news like the red dragon’s maw
When the baby-skull splitters want nuclear winter
Ideal New Cold steel and send Chernobyl shivers
Down Roman Republicans’ severed headlines
Till there’s no more dead kids on for prophet front lines
I’m in exile sharpenin’ [sic]kles in style
Pyongyang’n Kuomintang climate denials
Erasing their nation-hate racial profiles
Outpacing their skinhead disgraces by miles
Shell casin’ this place like the Nuremberg trials
For Fords sellin’ swastikas stockpile bibles
Defiled by Normandy tide genocidals
Fresh meat off the boat spreadin’ Plague mercantiles
I smile and **** ‘em with kindness
Then grind
Battle tax in my acid bath
Salt Marchin’ prime
Because WAR IS THE CRIME
I’m the Clown Prince of Rhyme,
Level 9 state of mind
Like the state of Rakhine
The Black Hand before time
Runnin’ Africa’s Luciest Sky Diamond mine
I’m the ronin alone in
The monkey god shrine
And my guile’s reprisal’s Versailles treaty signed
Strippin’ pride from the Rhine
‘Till your Motherland’s mine
Swine
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
Pluto says
Keep your hug
Pluto says
Dwarf Planet my ***
Pluto says
Sticks and Stones *************
Pluto says
I know what I am
I don’t care
For your “opinion”
Captured by the Kuiper Belt! Please.
Or one my favorites,
A cold rock!
You called me a trans-Neptunian object?
I have five moons!
An 11 year old girl tried to name me.
She won £5 but I’ve had many names.
I am fond of Hiro.
But I’ve also liked Minerva.
I am hardly a minor planet.
In 2006 they tried to make a verb out of me
To "pluto" is to "demote or devalue someone or something.”
**** You!
So passive aggressive and insulting.
I am not carrying that around with me
My orbit is 248 years.
At a 17 degree angle thank you very much
To pay my respects to that egomaniac Sun.
Why would I care what you think?
Perhaps I am envied because I am so far away.
I don’t think that I am far away at all.
It’s relative, no?
Yes, I am removed
from that Versailles situation over there
and all that ********
That horrible planet
You know the one that I mean.
The one that’s crawling with “things”
They’re not even you.
Disgusting.
I am awash with molten ices and
I even sport a plasma tail.
I spin in nitrogen gases
On my own path
Alone
With my FIVE moons!
Just us!
They claim that there are other
Dwarf Planets here and there
And even go so far as to suggest
That I am the puniest amongst them
But with my five and five more still
That’s 10 to 8
And you already know what I can do.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
lips become cherry red when I cry
and chasing cars hurts from my ears
down to my toes
because it was never wasting time
I almost killed my jeep battery
(forgot to turn the lights off)
drinking coffee to Iowa cornfields and a resurrected yearning
maybe I'll leave (I want to)
--LA, Paris, Austria, Versailles, Rio, Carmel, Amsterdam, Mumbai--
I'm audacious and arrogant--much too proud of
my flaws
leaving would be easy: intoxicating
like caffeine
stars
fear
laughing kisses
but staying means home and English and standing out like a sore thumb (a beautiful one) in public
and the people I deeply love
(and need) I can admit that now
so I'll watch the Capri Sun orange sunset
once again tonight
and try to intoxicate myself with
cornfields, sassy 8th graders, my beautiful examples of true love, ADD, bashful boy,
and pieces of the world
on my body
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
/ the aesthete...
and the athlete,
i.e.
the "sophist",
and the "philosopher"?
ah... phonetics, rather linguistics:
former: as-feet...
but the latter?
ancient greek
in french:
a(h)'f'lé'té.
people should, really introduce
a chemistry-style subscript for surds,
most notably H,
hay'chch,
when dealing with such deviations
from classicaly philosophy
metaphysical concerns,
and modern, orthography:
this, the, now,
types of "philosophical" inquiries:
and i mean that
as "philosophical":
because i actualy mean...
the favours of pedantry akin to
being entertained by
the intricacies of Versailles;
you'd get more good-luck wishes
in the form of horse-shoes
hanging over your door in a small
village in the ***** of gascony.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Friday- the most promising day of all.
The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall.
Down on Mainstreet all the girls
In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes.
The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly.
Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet.
Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans.
'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr.
'Who are you?' he stirred,
'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow.
And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies.
So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck:
'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore.
'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile.
That was the final chord to the "lick".
He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy.
'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed.
'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?'
And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly.
As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
#
From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if
But those who know..
we who have laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both outside
and inside
of the wire..
Those who have quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate as that borne of
and in to, a training.. an equipping;
lay low,
lay low
. . . .
The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own need
to be mesmerized, never even
noticed the children
who in their innocence, peered
out from under the crowd's legs
to better see the 'magnificent' podium..
The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which to the knowing,
was as that of a clanging bell..)
Now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such slipshod, weak
and hastily assembled framework..
And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..
*"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"*
War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ****** with all
of his blowhard oratorical ******** at least
had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..
Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,
but this
but this;
This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation, borne
not from a suffering leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms;
This counterfeit substance..
as if borne in power, as if.. as if.
.. But the realms.. they know
It is only those down here on earth, spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart from the necessary legwork needed
to humbly become a part of Stream's flow:
(borne, solely from the inner Wellspring-- deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache)..
It is here.. on earth.. that you will find
the reward you seek.. oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..
**Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
floating upon nothing..**
--And therefore meaning nothing
within the Substance-Based parameters
of the Realms.
#
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 3:48 PM UTC
Sleep soft and tight
In your warm and harmless bed.
Sleep soft and tight
Even if you deny the law
Sleep soft and tight
Have you ever heard of Versailles
Sleep soft and tight
Leave your nation in agony
Sleep soft and tight
But be aware in your dreams
Sleep soft and tight
You will meet your enemies
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
4
10:30
"Knock knock"
Still in my pyjamas.
We drank coffee and smoked cigarettes.
He went to a rap gig the night before.
Fifteen dollars wasted.
3
13:00
An old school friend.
More coffee.
We spoke of art, travel and vegetable gardens.
In Japan they don't eat or show affection in public she told me.
Aokigahara finally makes sense.
2
22:00
Lucky Coq.
Girls would ****** for his hair.
He told me of his grandfathers poetry recitals every Christmas.
Idiosyncrasies are the ventriloquists of my heart.
1
23:00
We smoked under vine-entwined lanterns.
He fell in love with a French girl once and lived with her in Versailles.
He was young and went back home.
Regret at the fork in the road.
0
23:30
Left to find a 24/7 bottle shop and go home.
Crossed paths with old friends.
"Come have a drink with us"
-1
-2
-3
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
Czar no ***** that's lie.
Rumour's fake like the treaty of Versailles.
Yeah, I know a lil history.
But her face beat, lookin like Rocky.
Brows ****** like drawn on *****
I guess Carl just makes bad champ picks.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
That brief moment
Walking into the shaded apartment to find you reading in flannel
And everything in me jumps
The camera obscura of my iris snaps,
Suspending you in amber light.
The tapered elegance of your fingers across a page
A glint of Versailles blue-gold eyes
And fortified ramparts of your shoulders.
I will carry this vestige with me
In a petticoat pocket
Until we are old
And your arms do not lift me as you just did
The last strand of your hair is silver
And your cheeks sink with age like your father’s.
These small gems of youth
Of promise
To keep in a sleeve until they are needed
And the mirrors show reflections we cannot change
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 9:11 PM UTC
I feel we're living the last days of Versailles
As beauty fades before my eyes
Convinced as I am
The gods owe us time,
I'd destroy this world
To keep what's mine.
My universe is necrotising
As I stumble through ruins
And colour drains away.
I bargain for time...
Throughout the many lives we've lived before knowing only each time we return,
To experience full transfiguration
You have to be willing to burn.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
Antonia, it’s time to rise today
Your breakfast is ready, your tutor waits
“Time is running", mama says
There’s much to learn as a princess
Antonia, follow whatever we please
Stand tall and straight, hide your scarred knees
You’re no longer a little girl
You’re bound to be a queen of the world
Antonia, quickly, put on your shoes
Lace your corset so it’s anything but loose
If you’re short of breath, you’ll have to wait
A true royal must never be late
Antonia, there’s no more time to play
With your chin up, follow what we say
You must learn to be a trophy of France
To walk with grace, to speak, to dance
Antonia, stop laughing like a witch
Don’t be a disgrace, you’re not a *****
You’ll change your name and all in between
Marie Antoinette is who you are as queen
Marie Antoinette, with beauty from the gods,
You’ll marry a man you’ve never loved
You’re off to France, now say goodbye,
You are to leave everything behind
Marie Antoinette, you lover of life,
With your luxury and power, your kingdom’s in strife
As you live your own Versailles delusion
Your kingdom is brewing a violent revolution
Marie Antoinette, do you remember the sweet days of sixteen?
Here it all ends, with a cruel guillotine.
Antonia, free spirit, never meant to be
A girl chained by royalty, a reigning queen.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
*concerning the last lines... all we can do with the Cartesian Libra is add adjectives to it, which is contrary to what the existentialists did by simply modifying a furthered abstraction of the compounds 'i think' and 'i am', via the inverted comma(s), otherwise known as dittoing, sic, prior said, or re-, true to the oddity; a king will continue to question his position / being a king by not thinking about it, hence his uninhibited delusions, hereditary, very much genetic; and hence someone who precursors his being with much concern for thinking, the inhibited delusion, self-serving - both are adjective expansions of the Cartesian Libra, just added qualities, given both are facts requiring a slab of marble to look like Rodin's kiss - or approximate, with therefore being the chisel, and so dependent the end product, indeed a slab of marble at first, but not necessarily Rodin's kiss at the end - perhaps a Notre Dame gargoyle...*
i am what i think,
that's what i came up with after
reading some of the bio sketches -
even though the truth is that
i am what i own -
thinking is the part that comes last,
if i own a bed and a roof over my head,
i end up i thinking about being
homeless - but sometimes you do find
the ones that are inclined
to be what they think, the extremes
we call them - supreme anti-materialists,
it's not satisfying to own a house
or a phone, more is required,
something tinged with transcendental
counters - they "own" a home
but rather not live in it, already the
looming fairy of heaven tells them
of an unnatural life expectancy -
some might say thinking a form of
uninhibited delusion sketches,
like i'd be a venture capitalists taking
a weekend away in Hawaii while
some ridiculousness of poverty in India
was to blame for my jet streams and
carbon footprints - they keep the
inhibited delusional in cages without
a chance to sketch - because the uninhibited
delusional have all the freedoms
that Versailles could allow - or...
uninhibited delusions of non-thought,
inherited, hereditary,
versus inhibited delusions of thought,
mutated, self-invented...
this could very well be a "magic" square
with two further variations, i.e.
uninhibited delusions of thought (psychopathy)
inhibited delusions of non-thought (coma?
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
yes, theology reduced to the anti-speculative reasoning
to choose he v. she, as if what pronoun mattered
to be hardly exact - national effigies exist
for ex-patriots - immigrants is a
***** word used by assimilating cultures,
the small intestines and the
the tape worms - she ******* Europe -
he labouring Europe - winged Hussars in Ukrainian mud -
while Versailles was built - Poles, the French of the East -
Moscow was trivialised twice - once by Mongol,
once by Pole - Nietzsche maddened called for
the Slavic-Frenchmen - i can already see the proximity
of French with Polonaise - the duchy of Warsaw -
Napoleon - Justepatron - just partition -
or thus the two bombardments equal -
thus two kept a holy alliance - that the Pole
be Frenchman when a croissant was questioned.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
I want to have
lunch
of all meats and veggies –
can someone cook
and put them all
on the table for me?
I want to eat fine
at a table of ebony
with silverware
in King Louis XIV style –
can somebody procure them for me?
I want to dine
in a Hall of Fame
Queen Cleo style
with singers and slaves
and manacled leopards
at my feet –
Hey, who’s there!
get them all ready for me
I want them all in a
Grand Palace like Versailles
not in some petty lowbrow
Château de Malmaison -
so can someone get it ready
by today eve, precisely 5?
I want to eat in peace
with no noise
and braying donkeys
so - Hey! can someone
shoot that rabble outside
unkempt, untidy
and always wanting free meals off me!
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 26, 2011 at 3:07 AM UTC
My mother always said to get along with people.
I made allies, I worked with people, and I stayed away from
Fights that were not mine.
My allies and I have had fights, but we worked it out.
(WWI and the treaty of Versailles)
It all changed though, when nearly everyone around me
Began to hate each other.
One of the kids I knew, but never played with,
Began to bully the others.
He said he hated Jews.
(Germany/ ******
He was a part of a promise my friends and I made,
Because he was a part of our fight, before.
He broke the promise
And he began to... Collect.... My friends
And take over their lives. They were controlled and
Manipulated and suppressed by him.
(Taking over Rhineland, Poland, etc.)
We decided to leave it alone. We didn't want to
Get involved again. (France/ Britain appeasement)
He promised that he would leave a few kids
Alone, but he lied. He controlled them, too. (Italy and Japan)
He had his friends that helped him,
But I think they were just scared of him
And acted like they were his friends.
When my other friends got involved, I wanted out,
But if they needed my help with some things,
I would help them if they gave me a cookie (cash).
After a while, I started to help my friends more,
But I wasn't really fighting... I did, though, when one
Of the bullies friends (Japan) threw a crayon at me.
It hurt really bad and I got angry.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
versailles has been waiting for your return
this time you will be reborn
out of bitter tears and infant screams
you have been baptised
and now the light of apollo will be in your eyes
the squinting girl will return
but now you are a lion-heart boy
and the twelve years that have passed for them
is twelve hundred for you!
versailles has been waiting
and you will go back
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
Essentia of magenta in
Each twinkling eye.
A goddess of Valencia,
A princess of Versailles.
Each dance, flit, jive, bob,
Conga, cut a rug.
Yet, only one do I intend to woo to Love.
The smokey air! overdue heat! Can NOT contain.
Ahh!!! and without a care, I waft Away the steam.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
Charred remains, of jungle burned:
Fire steeped, laotian leaves.
Who we lost, in what we earned;
For the love of ******
Of sweet release.
Korean craters, Mexican invaders, &
The Boxer rebellion.
The sinking of Maine, the panamanian strait;
Meuse–Argonne, inherent freedom
Is there a place, for the peaceable to congregate?
Versailles, Geneva, Nuremberg, Tokyo.
What point to rules are made,
When no one follows them.
Bagram, Mai Lai, Tiananmen, the Chechen genocide
Is it merely in our nature;
To fight, and argue, divide?
We can conquer, but can we conquer
The lust that is
The love of tribe
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 6:43 PM UTC
Too many of us prize the place over the person.
When I dream, I dream of hobos--6 to 8 of them--huddled around a make-shift fire next to the railroad tracks eating warmed cans of pork and beans. We chat, tell stories and jokes, and sometimes break into laughter. Maybe Woody Guthrie is among us.
Other times, I dream of the **** death camps, not an easy, not an enjoyable, thing to do. But that did happen, and not by economic circumstance. And even if fleetingly, they were together. I think that's what draws me to them.
Sometimes I dream of the Lakota Ogala Sioux before Wounded Knee put an end to them and their way of life. I see Crazy Horse, one of my few heroes, always self-effacing, and as true as the arrow he just shot as he was to his word.
And when Martin Lither King, Jr was murdered on a balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee by a single rifle bullet to his head, 4 April 1968, I dream of standing over him with others, crying.
The ugliest place I've ever seen is Versailles. Opulence on top of opulence on top of even more opulemce. Made me want to throw up.
Often, maybe too often, we prize the place over the person.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
I am tired, and I am tired of making it beautiful. Petals flung over the edge do not soften the fall. Adjectives do not halt decay. Spinning corpses in sugar is a sticky, pointless ordeal. If I let the moonlight paint me in all her violet shades they begin to look more like bruises. A single star, a gunshot wound. I think about how small I must look from all the way up there. I think about how I won’t live past twenty.
It’s such a dramatic scene, a fanciful notion ripped from the history books by a girl who doesn't know how she’ll fit into them. There was one like her before, who dug her palms into the rails and stared out at her burning Versailles, and she wondered how it could be so cold when there was so much light. Another kisses her daughter and son’s shining cheeks goodnight, sits on the tiled floor of the kitchen with her head in the oven. There was the one who painted and broke, loved and broke, painted and loved and shattered and broke. The other flies all her life and goes down at Howland, sinks for its remainder. All of them, statues with shards of rose colored glass transfixed in their eyeball sockets.
Maybe we were made to be romantic and lovely and tragic. Maybe we have no choice but to carry these diamonds and bleed from the backs of our ankles, streak the pavement rose red. Maybe we were destined to scar everything we touch, for what is beauty without pain?
I’ll paint my nails and bite them to the beds, I’ll **** boys who are cruel by design. I’ll spin endless corpses, spin relentless circles in this frigid corner of mine.
Jan 10, 2022
Jan 10, 2022 at 2:22 PM UTC
being Polish was never **** it was never a clue for
the sentencing of volleyball team effort... it was never ****
whatever it was... it was never going to be an Irish
bargain of gambling... it was just bad luck...
something akin to Lithuanian, something worth forgetting...
like Indians and the Bangladeshis... like Versailles and Belvederes palaces...
it was worth forgetting... which exemplified the love of
music in western Europe... and where music is
lacking there the poetic expression... well thank you Pink Floyd,
but let us forget Auden... we can all do enough with a sing-along...
but when it comes to canvases of involvement to track
the shoe-lace ties or the cravat tangle readied for a ballet...
well, aren't you the one to tell us that it was just
a calorie intake of veganism:
mark that as a turnip postage... and a
fried potato licked, while she gags on ageing for the
added repertoire of scandal in sandals flicked to represent lapping
tongues and butterfly flicking of what became
flapped toe-curls of synchronisation; and the dipping,
soda baking of a tartar sauerkraut.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
WE AREN'T FRIENDS
STOP ACTING LIKE IT
I HATE YOUR STUPID HEAD
ITS TOO BIG FOR YOUR SHOULDERS
AND YOUR EGO COULDN'T EVEN FIT INSIDE
THE PALACE OF VERSAILLES
YOU'RE STUPID
AND KIND OF DUMB
AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN FUNNY
SO STOP TRYING
WE AREN'T FRIENDS
SO STOP ACTING LIKE IT
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 10:05 AM UTC